


Hard for Harding

by LathboraViran



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: All Soul's Eve costumes, Cullenlingus (Dragon Age), Cunnilingus, Drunk Sex, F/M, Fic or Treat 2019, Height Differences, Vaginal Sex, but not a Jimterruption!, jim cameo, or tipsy sex anyway they're not especially drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 18:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21213338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LathboraViran/pseuds/LathboraViran
Summary: It's All Souls Eve, and Dorian has talked the Inquisitor into celebrating it the northern way, with a costume party. Cullen is on edge until one Scout Harding distracts him from all the fake spirits running around.





	Hard for Harding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kauri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kauri/gifts).

> Written for the 2019 Fic or Treat exchange. Special thanks to everyone at [The Hanged Man Discord server](https://discord.gg/U4Y5uCR) for boatloads of help at every stage of this fic. They came up with the pairing and a good bit of the context for how Lace and Cullen get to talking. I also could not have written the Cullenlingus (snerk) without their advice and encouragement. I may come back later and tag each individual person who helped out, but I'm worried I'll leave someone out, so I wanna check in with folks before I post the list. :)
> 
> In other news, I cannot believe how rare this pairing is. You can't tell me that two farmkids from the Hinterlands who left to help people would not have a million things to talk about. Also, they are both adorable.

Skyhold was covered in spirits. Not the real kind, thank the Maker, but even just people dressed as spirits was unnerving if you asked Cullen.

Not that anyone had. Dorian had talked the Inquisitor into celebrating All Soul’s Eve “the northern way,” with costumes and barrels of alcoholic cider and drunken games and contests. It was heretical by southern Chantry standards, so of course Mahanon had gone for it.

Cullen would have preferred to be in his office working, or even in bed fighting off nightmares, but the Inquisitor had insisted that all the leadership should attend the evening festivities.

Which was how he found himself at the Herald’s Rest, focusing his attention on the mug of cider in his hand - it was surprisingly tasty - and trying to ignore the fake spirits on every side (and the real one that seemed to be lurking near a different table every time Cullen looked up).

“Hey,” said a voice at his elbow, and he turned and nearly jumped out of his skin. For a moment, he’d thought it was Cole, come to read his thoughts to the room at large, and he really did not need that right now, but after that first startled moment, he recognized the person and the voice: Scout Harding - dressed up as their resident spirit, straw hair for a wig, big hat, ragged clothes, and all.

“Scout Harding,” he said and nodded, by way of greeting.

“Commander Rutherford,” she replied in a mock-serious tone. “You look a little lonely over here.”

“I prefer to keep my own company,” he said, then felt his face pink when he realized it sounded like a dismissal, and really, couldn’t he use a distraction from all this foolishness? “Not that I would mind your company. Would you like… I mean you’re welcome to...” Why did he suddenly feel so awkward? He settled for pulling out the chair next to him.

Harding smiled and sat down. As she did so, she attempted to brush her hair behind her ear, only to find that the “hair” that was bothering her was the straw of her wig. “Ugh,” she said, “I’ve been doing that all night. It’s itchy and in the way.”

Cullen gave a little chuckle. “I can imagine. Still, you have the most realistic costume here.”

Harding grinned. “I don’t know. Do you think desire demons really look like…” she gestured at Dorian, who was seated at a large table with most of the Inquisitor’s inner circle. He had somehow tinted his skin purple from head to toe and was wearing nothing but a bit of gauzy fabric draped around his hips and some sort of jewelry dangling from his nipples. Cullen had been deliberately avoiding looking at him all night.

“They look a little different to each person, but that’s… uh… not an uncommon presentation.” Cullen tore his eyes away to stare into his cider again.

“Well, I can see why. But then, Dorian looks good in anything. Somehow even makes that weird Tevinter getup with the straps look good,” Harding said, and out of the corner of his eye, Cullen saw her take a very long drink from her own mug of cider.

“It sounds like you have a bit of a crush,” he said, and thought that perhaps the cider was stronger than he’d realized. He normally wouldn’t have said something quite that intrusively personal. He didn’t know Harding well enough for that by any stretch. He frowned at his mug.

Harding only laughed. “I do, but even if he weren’t taken, he wouldn’t be interested. I just admire from afar.” She took another swig. “There are a lot of pretty people to admire in the Inquisition. Pity I’m not in Skyhold more often to see if any of them might be interested in me.”

That felt like bait somehow. Or maybe she was just looking for commiseration? It was hard to pick up nonverbal cues when he was insistently staring at his mug. He looked over at her. There was a grin on her face, somehow sweet and sly at the same time, and his body certainly found that intriguing. How had he never noticed before how pretty she was, with those freckles and that button nose?

He’d been silent too long and it was getting awkward. So he said the first thing that came to his alcohol-lubricated mind. “Anyone in particular who’s caught your eye?”

Her grin widened. “Hm. Krem’s rather handsome. Jospehine is lovely. She sent me flowers once. Just to thank me for my service, though. But there is someone I’ve especially been thinking of lately. He’s very handsome, but seems very lonely. He was even drinking alone earlier tonight, even though everyone else is having a good time. I think he needs another mug of cider and a cute redhead in his lap.”

She couldn’t be talking about him. Had anyone else been drinking alone tonight? He didn’t know, since he’d been trying not to look around, not wanting to see people’s costumes any more than he had to.

Harding stood up abruptly, making a beeline for the bar. Well, he’d know soon enough who she meant if she was buying someone a cider. He was suddenly nervous. What if it wasn’t him? What if it _was_?

Two ciders in hand, she made a show of walking an indirect route around the tavern, as if she might go to another table, but she kept glancing at him. She was clearly trying to keep a smile off her face, the corners of her mouth twitching. Even her indirect route could only be so long, though, and soon she was only a few feet away, close enough to see the sparkle in her eye.

She was a playful person all around, he knew that even from her reports when they crossed his desk, but it was something else entirely to have that playfulness directed at him. If she really did sit in his lap, there would be no hiding what that playful not-smile was doing to him.

She gave up trying to keep the grin off her face as she took the last step up to him and set down two mugs of cider.

“Scoot your chair back, Commander,” but she said it like _she _was in command and there was no way he could say no to that, so he scooted.

She turned around and sat across him sideways, one arm wrapped casually around his neck. With her free hand, she pressed a mug into his right hand as he wrapped his left arm around her waist. He could feel her figure through the light tunic of her costume, and she was lean and muscular but just a bit soft.

“Cullen,” he said. “Call me Cullen, not Commander, if you’re going to use me as a chair.”

She grinned. “I suppose you can call me Lace, then.”

He took a swig of the cider she’d given him. She watched him, seemingly waiting for something, and when he’d finished swallowing she leaned in close. “Why, Cullen,” she whispered in his ear, “you seem to be hard for Harding.”

No wonder she’d waited for him to finish his drink. He would have choked on it. As it was, he sputtered for a moment before finally managing, “Be careful who you say that to, or it’ll wind up in Varric’s next book.”

Her grin somehow grew even wider. “I think he’s already got something about ‘Harding in Hightown.’”

Cullen groaned. “Remind me never to be at the same table with the two of you. My eyes might stay permanently rolled back.”

Something flashed in Harding’s - Lace’s - eyes. “I can think of other ways to make your eyes roll.”

If she was going to make a game of this, he might as well play too. “I wonder what I can get _you_ to roll,” he said, and moved his hand on her waist down to squeeze her hip. Maybe the words weren’t all that suave, but the meaning was clear enough, and she made a little pleased “hmm” that he just barely heard over the din of the crowd.

“Maybe I overestimated your need for more cider,” she said.

Was that a complete non sequitur or was he too tipsy to follow? “What does that even mean?”

“You’re normally so… dignified. But you seem to be taking to this” - she gestured at herself with the hand that wasn’t around Cullen’s neck - “pretty well.”

He couldn’t help but be the tiniest bit offended by that. “I am not immune to the charms of a beautiful woman.”

A lovely little blush rose in her cheeks at that. “Who knew the commander was such a sweet-talker?”

“It’s not sweet-talking if it’s true,” he said.

Lace’s blush went a few shades darker. “Usually people call me pretty or cute.”

“Then they’ve been selling you short,” Cullen said. “Although I seem to remember the deal being a redhead on my lap, and here there’s a blond spirit boy.”

Lace laughed and removed the hat. The straw wig went with it, apparently attached to the inside of the hat. Her hair was done up in tight braids wound up at the back, frizzy with flyaways from the rough texture of the straw. “The straw hair is probably not my most attractive look,” she said.

“Definitely better this way,” Cullen agreed, and pressed a kiss to her hairline. It occurred to him as he drew back that it was perhaps too intimate for the situation. Too late now.

Lace was blushing still, or again. Maker, that was a good look on her. He wanted to kiss her. Was it too soon? Would it ruin the game? It surprised him to realize that he was thoroughly enjoying their banter. Part of him wanted to draw it out, and part of him wanted to take her to his room right now and take her apart with his mouth.

With that thought, he had to have his mouth on her. He placed his free hand on her cheek to turn her more fully toward him and pressed his lips to hers, softly at first, but she kissed back with all the urgency merited by the fact that the world was ending. Her lips pressed firmly back against his, mouth open, tongue flicking out against his lips, and his heart raced in response.

Suddenly her hands were on him, one on his face and one in his hair, not quite rough but demanding, and just that touch left him breathless.

Her tongue grew more insistent, sliding across his lower lip and seeking access to his mouth. He opened for her, replied to her tongue with his own, playing across her tongue, licking across her upper lip. The quietest little moan escaped her, soft enough to reach only his ears. His free hand went around her waist, and he pulled her in, holding her tight against him.

She pulled back from the kiss a little, tongue departing entirely, only to take his lower lip in her teeth, biting gently but firmly enough that he couldn’t stifle a moan of his own, and suddenly he was fully aware of the fact that they were sitting in a crowded tavern and he was the Commander and it wasn’t appropriate for him to behave like this in public.

He drew back. “Lace,” he said. “We should take this somewhere more private.” It sounded too demanding to him. “I mean, if that’s… if you want to.”

She grinned at him, sweet but with a sharp glint in her eye. “Yes, _please_.”

His stomach suddenly flipped. It had been so long since he’d taken someone to bed. He hoped he would be able to satisfy her.

He almost shook his head at himself. Dwelling on that was not useful.

“Your quarters or mine?” he asked. 

She gave a short little laugh. “All I’ve got is a tent, and it’s down in the lower camp. So your quarters.”

Cullen released her waist. “Off my lap with you then. Unless you want me to carry you there.”

Lace laughed in earnest at that. “I’m not sure that would reflect well on your _dignified _image. Or my reputation as cute but competent and occasionally deadly.”

She stood up in one smooth motion, steadying herself lightly against his shoulder. He stood, and had to resist the urge to adjust himself where his erection was pressing painfully against his breeches.

They walked together out the front door of the Herald’s Rest into the chill night air. Harding took his hand, intertwining her fingers in his, as they made for the stairs to the battlements. 

“So,” Harding said when as they mounted the stairs, “what would you like me to do to you?”

She was looking up at him out of the corner of her eye, mouth quirked up in a coy, lop-sided smile. _Maker_.

“I… ah… I had been thinking about things you might like _me _to do to _you_,” he said.

“Ooo, like what?” she asked, smile widening.

His face was hot; he must be blushing fiercely. Fortunately it was dark, and the few torches along the stairway would do little to show the color in his face. “I’d rather not discuss this out here for anyone could hear.”

“Oh, but that’s half the fun,” she said, and Cullen could hear the wicked smile in her voice. But then she sobered. “I just don’t want there to be awkward silence.”

The honesty struck Cullen as terribly vulnerable, and the anxiety in it terribly familiar. She didn’t expect this to be anything more than a tumble in the sheets and then back to their comfortable acquaintanceship. 

He felt a little twinge of sadness at that. He wasn’t much for one-night stands, and he was thoroughly enjoying her company. He cast about in his mind for a topic of conversation that wouldn’t have every guard on the battlements chattering by morning.

“You’re from the Hinterlands, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, a farm not too far from the crossroads. It wasn’t much, but it was home, you know?” she said, a little wistfully.

“I do. I grew up on a farm outside Honnleath,” he said.

“Oh! I didn’t know that,” Lace replied. “Did your family keep sheep at all?”

“No. We kept a few goats and a cow, though, for milk and cheese,” Cullen said.

“Goats are fun, especially the kids. They do such weird things sometimes. I was in charge of the sheep, but we kept a few goats too. One time we found one of the goats just standing on a fencepost, all four hooves bunched up on it. We had to build the fence taller after that, cuz if she could do that, she could escape.”

Cullen laughed at that. “That does seem like a goat thing to do.”

“Sheep don’t do things like that,” Lace said. “They just do stupid things, get themselves in messes. You’d think after the first time they got stuck in a bramble patch, they’d stop going in there, but you’d be wrong.” Despite the complaint, there was affection in her voice.

“Do you miss them?” Cullen asked. Someone else might have thought it silly, but he had missed their goats and cow and chickens for years as a recruit.

Lace sighed. “Yeah, I do. But I wouldn’t trade the Inquisition for anything. Traveling to different places, working with all kinds of interesting people, saving the world - I love it. I’m sure I’ll go back to the farm eventually, but I’m not in any rush.” She paused. “What about you? After Corypheus is dead, will you go back to the Templars or to a farm somewhere? Or are you gonna be the Commander of the Inquisition forever?”

“I… haven’t actually thought about it much. There’s too much happening in the here and now. I won’t be going back to the Templars. But I could see myself finding a farm somewhere.”

“Somewhere? Anywhere in Thedas? Orlais?” she asked, and the playfulness was back in her voice.

“_Ferelden,”_ he said emphatically. “Where in Ferelden I don’t care.”

She laughed.

They were only a few steps from the door of Cullen’s tower now. A guard stood outside it, though the shadows of the torchlight obscured his face until they were practically upon him.

“Jim!” cried Harding. So much for any chance of discretion. Though he supposed it was not surprising they knew one another.

“Ace! What are you doing up…” Suddenly, Jim seemed to notice their still-joined hands. “Oh. Ohhhhhh. Uh, Commander, do you want me to round up the other guards and, uh, give you some space?”

Cullen only hesitated for the barest moment. “Yes, tell them you all have the night off for the holiday.”

“Yes, sir!” said Jim, and hurried through the door into the tower, since that was the most efficient way to reach the guards at its other doors.

Cullen turned to Harding. “Ace?”

She giggled, a bit nervous-sounding. “Some of my friends call me that. They said Lace is too girly for me.”

“Is it?” Cullen asked.

“It is and it isn’t. I don’t want my men to call me Lace, so it works,” she said with a shrug.

Cullen had in mind to ask more about it, but at that moment, the door opened, and Scout Jim popped his head through to announce, “Tower’s clear, Commander. Have fun. And, uh, Commander - treat her good, okay?” Even in the dim torchlight, the color in his face was obvious. It must have been very red to show at all in this light.

Cullen mostly succeeded in holding back a laugh. “Of course. Now go enjoy your evening.”

“Yes, sir!” Jim said, and disappeared back into the tower. 

“Why did he go back in?” Harding - Lace - Ace? said beside him. He’d have to get some clarification on the name.

“Just going out the other door so he can catch up to the others, I imagine. Shall we?” He opened the door and held it for her.

She walked into the dark room as if she knew it - which he knew she didn’t really - and said, “Oh, such a gentleman!”

A brief, irrational anger took hold of him. He tried to channel it into humor. “I may have manners, but that does not make me nobility!”

It really wasn’t very funny, but she laughed anyway. “I forgot for a moment your aversion to nobility. It’s sort of legendary at this point. I can see why,” she said as Cullen followed her through the door.

He could hear rustling as he fumbled around his desk for candle and tinder. What was she doing? When he got the candle lit, and turned his gaze toward her, it became apparent: she had already stripped out of the ragged garments of her costume and was down to breast band and knickers. And Maker’s breath, she was lovely. It was still dim, but her figure was apparent, the broader frame typical of dwarves, the practical muscle born of hard work, lean but covered in a layer of appealing softness.

His mouth went dry when he started searching for words. “I… you… you’re lovely,” he stammered. Maker, could he be more awkward?

“And you’re sweet, but you are wearing way too many clothes,” she said, stepping toward him.

He could not have said afterwards what specific steps led to them both climbing the ladder to his bedchamber buck naked, Lace following on his heels and tracing fingers down his calves on every rung. At some point it occurred to him that they’d regret having left their clothes downstairs, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

He’d wanted to light another candle, but Lace stopped him. “The full moon is streaming through that hole in your roof - _why_ is there a hole in your roof by the way? - and you want candles? Come on!” She tugged him by the hand toward the bed.

He went willingly. If he was honest, she was strong enough to move him if she caught him even a little off-guard. The thought was strangely arousing.

She pushed him so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Lace’s hands traced along his thighs, then took his knees and moved them apart so that she could stand between them. She was a tiny bit taller than him like this, and she leaned down to kiss him. He moaned wantonly into her lips. Having her above him, even slightly, was doing things to him he couldn’t describe.

Then she was moving, a knee coming up onto the bed next to his hip, then the other, and she was sitting in his lap, straddling him, and - _oh -_ she was rocking her hips, her sex sliding against his. She was already growing slick with desire. Was she going to ride him like this, with no more foreplay than hurried stripping and a few kisses?

That would be… oh… but surely she wanted more, needed more from him than just that? And he wanted more too, to draw this out, to drag every ounce of pleasure from both of them.

“Lace,” he whispered against her lips, and his voice was low and rough, “I want to taste you.”

She moaned into his mouth, a long shuddering thing that went straight to his cock.

She shifted off of him, her movement no less awkward for being confident, until she was kneeling beside him on the bed. Cullen rearranged himself until he was lying on his back, feeling that his movement must have been far more awkward and less sexy than Lace’s had been. He ignored it.

“Kneel over me,” he said, since she hadn’t moved.

She practically purred before replying “You give such lovely orders, Commander.” There was a playful grin pulling up one corner of her mouth, and it was probably the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

She crawled forward till she was knelt over him, towering now despite her diminutive height. It suited her. Cullen ran his eyes over her for a long moment, and when he reached her face, she was grinning at him.

"Like what you see, Commander?" Her tone was lascivious but playful, and it made his cock jump with want.

"You are _gorgeous_. And I'm not sure I'm Commander of anything just now," he said.

Her eyes were on his lips, and he realized that he'd quirked up the corner of his mouth, the side with the scar. He'd forgotten what that tended to do to his bed partners when he'd had them.

He let his eyes drop back down across every lovely inch of her torso to the patch of red curls at the apex of her thighs. He wanted what was hidden there, wanted to claim her with his mouth and his fingers, to push her over the edge into bliss twice, three times before he took her. He wondered if she'd come again with him inside her.

He groaned his need, only realized it when the sound was already escaping him.

"Anything specific you'd like me to do or to avoid?" he asked.

"Nothing comes to mind," she said, "but I'll let you know if there's something I want along the way." _Maker, _that tone of voice did things to him.

He moved down the bed a bit and grasped her hips to move her so that she was directly over his face. Desire coiled in his belly at the sight and smell of her, musky and sweet, the folds of her sex already pink and swelling from rubbing against him moments ago.

He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her entrance, then to her nub, and just that earned him a breathy gasp. She was warm against him as he swirled his tongue over and around her clit until her breaths were loud and uneven. But her thighs under his hands were still steady and she hadn’t moaned again and he wanted her coming to pieces.

He changed his movements to flick and tap her hardening nub with the tip of his tongue. The sound that escaped her was practically a scream. “Fuck, that’s too much,” she said breathlessly, and he paused for a moment to catch his own breath and let her recover.

He stroked his tongue through her folds from the back to just shy of her clit, gathering musky moisture on his tongue. The taste of her aroused him and he moaned against her, upper lip over her clit. She replied with a breathless moan, the slightest buck of her hips.

He sucked her clit between his lips, humming slightly as he did so. Remembering her earlier admonishment, he kept his tongue as still as he could to avoid overstimulating her as he continued to suck her.

Her thighs quivered under his hands, and her breath was ragged. He carefully moved one hand until he could press a finger to her entrance. She moaned something that sounded a bit like the word “Maker,” and he pressed into her heat, and she clenched around him, incoherent sounds of pleasure spilling from her, thigh shaking wildly under his other hand.

He kept sucking until she quieted and started to catch her breath, and his mouth ached around her. Then he gently released her, let his head rest more firmly on the bed as he caught his own breath. His finger was still inside her, and he curled it experimentally as he watched her face. Her eyes rolled back as he pressed into her forward wall.

“Cullen,” she breathed, “That was _amazing_.”

He grinned, felt a delicious rush of confidence. “I aim to please.” He paused. “Maker, you’re beautiful like this.”

“What, over you? Feeling tall for once in my life?” She was smiling, the slightest hint of a dimple in her freckled cheeks.

“That. And breathless.” He ran a hand up her side, brushed his thumb across her breast, small but deliciously soft. _Maker_, he wanted her. “Ride me,” he said, and immediately felt his face heat. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“You have such good ideas,” she said through a grin, her eyes sparkling even in the moonlight. He felt a little twist of pleasure at the compliment.

She inched her knees back, which should have looked silly, but he was captivated by her grin and the freckles on her shoulders and the dark point of her nipples in the soft mounds of her breasts. Then she was over his hips, taking his cock in her hand. She stroked over it a few times and he whimpered with want. He’d have been embarrassed if not for the hunger it sparked in her eyes.

She lined him up against her entrance and sank her hips down slowly, so slowly, and it was an exquisite agony because he wanted so badly to just be inside her. She was slick with desire but still unbearably tight around him as she sank onto him inch by glorious inch.

When he was finally fully seated in her, he gasped with relief and pleasure, and then she was rocking up and down, thighs working beautifully with the effort. She was leaned forward slightly, his hands were on her sides - he didn’t remember how they’d gotten there. He brushed his thumbs over her skin. And then she changed the angle slightly and it was so good suddenly he had to close his eyes to concentrate on not coming right then. It had been too long, and she was too warm and wet and perfect around him. Several long moments passed that way, trying not to fall over the edge even as pleasure coiled higher and higher within him.

And then she broke the rhythm, shifted. He opened his eyes to see her face sinking closer to his, and she captured his lips in a sloppy open kiss. She rocked her hips into him, her mouth briefly leaving his on each upward motion, and he focused on kissing her back, licking her lips, licking into her mouth. She shifted her hips again, grinding into him, and her breath hitched and grew uneven, her walls tightening against him.

He ran a hand up to touch her breast, brushing across her nipple. She moaned slightly, and he took it as encouragement, rolled her nipple between thumb and finger. Her breath hitched and she spasmed around him, not an orgasm but perhaps a forerunner of one. He pinched instead of rolling this time, and she bucked against him. He brought the other hand up, pinched both nipples tightly even as she continued to grind against him, and then it wasn’t just one spasm around him but wave after wave, her voice crumbling on syllables he couldn’t make out, and it was too much and he followed her over the edge, pulsing hot pleasure drowning out sight and sound and even the feeling of her skin under his hands.

When his senses returned a moment later, she was kissing him lazily, rocking her hips just as lazily with him still inside her, and he sighed at the strangely diffuse feeling of pleasure that washed over him.

After a long moment, she finally lifted her hips, moaning as she slid off his now-softening length, and rolled to lie on her side next to him. He turned his face to look at her, her expression soft and hazy, eyes half-closed.

“You are…” he began and then had to search for words. “Exquisite,” he finally said.

“Mmm. So are you,” she replied.

He rested a hand on her side, and she placed a hand on his chest, half-curled. They lay like that for a precious little eternity before Lace broke the silence.

“Two questions,” she said.

“Mm?”

“One: Do you have a washrag? And two: What would you say to finding out sometime if I’m as good with my tongue as you are?” Her smile was almost shy despite the playful spark in her eye.

He smiled. “Yes, and yes _please_.”


End file.
